


The Life In My Bones

by LadyZaniahStrangeling



Series: Use My Body (While It's Still Young) [1]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: 5000 words and more, AU, Gen, basically its the story told over with some blank years filled in, becket bro angst (sorry about that), but cannon, ghost!Yancy, oh and Raleigh can talk to ghosts, that's a thing too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 08:45:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1298704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyZaniahStrangeling/pseuds/LadyZaniahStrangeling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everybody knew about the tragic death of the older Becket brother. But what they didn't know was that for three minutes, the younger was dead too. </p><p>Nor did they know about the strange ability he came back from the dead with.</p><p>(An AU where Raleigh can see and talk to ghosts and grows to be thankful for his dead older brother who refuses to leave him alone.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Life In My Bones

**Author's Note:**

> Title of work and series taken from Rebekka Karijord's song 'Use My Body While It's Still Young'.
> 
> So, I am in a state of denial about Yancy's death, and since I am only capable of writing angst (apparently), this was born.
> 
> All of the ghost stuff is based on the ghosts from [Being Human (UK)](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Being_Human_\(TV_series\)), but no knowledge of that series is required whatsoever.

“…. is falling. Ranger Becket? Ranger Becket, can you hear me? That’s it, keep your eyes open- ”

“Raleigh? C’mon, look at me kid, hang in there.”

_Yancy._

“Yeah, I’m here. It’s okay – _you’re_ okay. You did it, kid, you did it. You got that kaiju good.”

The blur of faces, the rocking motion of movement.

_Yancy._

Everything hurts. His body, his mind, his soul.

“Ranger Becket? Dammit, we’re losing him. Heart rate is dropping below – ”

_Yancy._

“Hang in there Raleigh. Look at me, kid. _Don’t_ close your eyes, you hear me? _Don’t._ Goddamnit. _Raleigh_ \- ”

And then there’s a high-pitched whine that’s filling his ears.

*****

Raleigh Becket is technically dead for three minutes.

*****

His eyelids are like stone when he forces them open, his vision blurry and everything in his body _hurts._ A larger-than-normal breath of air turns into a gasp, which then manifests into a groan when a sharp line of pain ignites in his chest. And with that sudden reappearance of pain, _everything_ resurfaces in his mind, and –

_Yancy._

He wants to move, wants to escape from the prison of the hospital room that he’s the _only_ occupant of, wants to –

“Hey, hey, Raleigh, take it easy. It’s okay. Just relax.”

There’s the sound of the heart rate monitor in the background spiking, a hand that’s heavy on his shoulder, and a warm, familiar voice. His head flops to the side the voice came from, and his eyes widen.

Yancy sits on the chair beside his bed, pale-faced but smiling shakily. His blonde hair is messy from where he’s been constantly running his hands through it in frustration. And he’s still wearing his white drivesuit.

That’s when Raleigh starts screaming.

*****

“But you’re dead,” Raleigh whispers hollowly later when he’s calmed down. That’s what _they_ told him, anyway, after injecting sedatives and medication into his veins to prevent him from thrashing around in a further panic. That’s what the hole in his brain screams at him. He stares at the ceiling, carefully avoiding looking at his brother. “How are you still here?”

“I don’t know, kid,” Yancy says helplessly. He put his head in his gloved hands. “I don’t know.”

*****

It isn’t a hallucination brought on by a residual ghost drift, that much Raleigh knows. His brother is gone from his mind, and only a swirl of memories and half-finished thoughts remain. The man sitting beside his bed is _real_ – well, real enough that he can feel the cold tingles that race across his skin when Yancy teasingly pokes the scratching of stubble that has started to etch its way across his face, or the way his brother slams the call button for the nurse whenever a nightmare or panic attack leaves Raleigh’s mind reeling, and holds him through the sporadic pain spasms.

Those actions are all real.

But the way the doctors and nurses pass through his body like it is nothing but smoke, the way they seemingly can’t hear all of Yancy’s exasperated yells to _fucking do something, you morons_ when Raleigh’s left arm fails him again and again, or the pain hits him suddenly out of nowhere and the only cure for it is sedatives that send him spiralling into unconsciousness – that is all real, too.

But it isn’t a hallucination. And it’s through small things like this that Raleigh knows:

The look on a sleep-deprived and emotional Tendo’s face when the box of tissues that had been previously placed on the opposite side of Raleigh’s bed – out of reach of his bound arm – appear on his knees. The incontrollable shiver that passes through his body when Yancy places a hand on Tendo’s shoulder and says softly, “It wasn’t your fault, buddy.”

The airborne glass of water that Pentecost has to duck to avoid; it smashes on the wall behind him and sends a spray of water sloshing over his suit. He eyes the bed-ridden Becket with a strange, wide-eyed glance before leaving the hospital room hurriedly. The dark-skinned woman in outdated, military aviation uniform at his side throws them both a filthy look, hissing a vaguely British “ _Dickhead_ ,” in Yancy’s general direction as she follows the Marshal.

Yancy glares at her and flips her off. He sounds pleased with himself when he huffs, “I’ve always wanted to do that to the hardass.”

*****

Raleigh finally figures it out one afternoon.

When the doctor and physiotherapist come to have a poke at his arm, Yancy is out – stretching his legs, he says. Without his brother, Raleigh is morose and unresponsive, made all the more so by his sleep the previous night being plagued with nightmares – no matter how many times Yancy woke him to chase them away. A small girl about four or five years old accompanies the two medical professionals, clinging to the coat of Dr. Martinez. Her brown hair is curled and in pigtails, and she shyly hides behind the woman, staring unabashedly at Raleigh. He winks at her; she giggles and smiles, burying her face in the white material of Dr. Martinez’s coat.

“Hello,” he says softly. “What’s your name?”

Dr. Martinez and the physio immediately stop talking and stare at him as if he’s gone insane.

(Which to be fair, after piloting Gipsy solo, he probably is.)

“Mr. Becket,” Doctor Martinez begins slowly, shooting the physio a look and moving gently towards his bed. The small girl smiles again, and widens her large brown eyes. “It’s okay, we’re here to help you. My name is- ”

“Yeah, I know who you are,” he frowns, waving his uninjured hand impatiently. “I was talking to her.” He points at the girl, who waves at him before darting behind the doctor again. “The little girl who came in with you.”

A strange look passes over Dr. Martinez’s face. Under his breath, the physiotherapist mutters, “Fucking crazy. Absolutely nutjob,” and Raleigh flushes.

“Don’t you…?” He begins. Their faces are blank, the doctor, at least, showing more concern than the physio. “But she’s right there, hiding behind you!”

Dr. Martinez casts her head around, humouring him by looking, before turning back. “Mr. Becket, I can assure you that there is no one there.”

And Raleigh can’t understand why they can’t see her – can’t understand…. He just can’t _understand_ full stop. “But she’s,” he tries again as the girl twirls in her pink and white dress, blowing playful raspberries at him. He flicks his eyes to Dr. Martinez as she leans forward, first attempting to feel his forehead for any sign of a feverish heat, and then shining a light into his eyes as she focuses on his face. Raleigh’s blue eyes flick back and forth between the girl and the doctor, and recognition dawns. “Is she your daughter?” he asks.

Dr. Martinez freezes in the process of adjusting the equipment in her pocket. She draws in a shaky breath. “What,” she says quietly, “did you say?”

“She’s your daughter, isn’t she?” Raleigh presses on. The girl clings to Dr. Martinez’s coat and mumbles, “Momma,” into the folds of the material. A sadness has taken over her face. Dr. Martinez still hasn’t moved or spoken, and the physiotherapist is looking at him like he’s fucking _mental_. “Look, she’s right there, can’t you see her? In- in a white dress with pink flowers – she’s got her hair curled and in- ”

The doctor’s face has gone white, and a nurse breaks the moment by entering Raleigh’s room to check his I.V. bag. Dr. Martinez snaps her eyes to the middle-aged woman and says shakily, “Sedative, give him a sedative to calm him down,” before stumbling out of the room to Raleigh’s cries of “I’m not crazy – she’s right there! Why can’t you see her?!”. The physiotherapist is hot on her heels, slamming the door of his room shut.

The nurse stares at the doorway for a few seconds, then turns back to Raleigh, who’s risen to a sitting position and is wincing from the strain of it. With a sigh and a clucking of her tongue, she helps him lay down again, _tsk_ ing and berating him for exceeding his current range of movements. She does give him a sedative, but it’s only enough to numb part of the pain, not to put him completely under.

He closes his eyes, leaning back into the bed. “’m not crazy,” he mutters, trying to convince himself.

“Nobody said you were,” the nurse says soothingly, patting down the blankets. There’s silence. Then she adds, “I’ve never seen the doc like that before.” She’s fishing for information – all the nurses in here are gossips, he’s found, and the drugs entering his veins loosen his tongue.

“She couldn’t see her,” he says. “I’m not crazy,” Raleigh adds, defending himself adamantly.

“Couldn’t see who?” the nurse inquires offhandedly. He cracks his eyes open again.

“The little girl with her. She was in a white and pink dress, and she had curly brown hair that was- ”

“Oh, honey,” the woman breathes. She sighs. “She had a daughter who was killed two months ago. Hit and run.” She shook her head, echoing the doctor’s movement of touching his forehead to feel for a fever. “Someone must have shown you a picture, and in your state you must have…” She shakes her head again, then subtly increases his dose of sedative. “No wonder she flipped out a little bit.” The nurse pats his hand awkwardly and leaves the room, walking straight through Yancy, who chose the moment to return from his exploration of the hospital. His brother is hanging his head dejectedly, and scowls as the woman sends the form of his body into wisps of dust-like particles before they solidify into shape again. There’s a nasty sensation in Raleigh’s stomach – he feels like he’s just crawled out of Gipsy’s Conn-Pod again ( _alone,_ his mind whispers). He watches his brother walk over to his bed, and closes his eyes as Yancy mutters “Shuffle over.” His brother lies down beside him on the small hospital bed, their shoulders touching. Raleigh lets his head fall against Yancy’s – the way they used to after a drift sometimes – and feels a tiny tear slip from under his eyelids.

“Yance?” he whispers. “I think- I think you’re a ghost.”

Yancy chokes on breathy sigh. “Yeah, kid,” he swallows thickly. “I think I’m one too.”

*****

How does Yancy know?

When the hot receptionist of Raleigh’s hospital ward is immune to his attempts at flirting, and instead walks straight through his non-corporeal body, proceeding to make him stumble backwards _through a Goddamned wall_ in shock.

At least, that’s what he tells his younger brother to make him quirk a soft smile and laugh gently.

But in reality, it's endless wandering through the never-ending corridors of hospital staff that carry on their daily lives and ignore his attempts at conversation – just ignore him altogether, really, treating him like every other piece of air. He's just another name associated with someone’s tragic backstory now – _his brother’s_. Just another cautious whisper that people gossip about without really wanting to know the gory details of how _it_ really happened.

He is alone in the world, and the only person that can see him is his brother.

It is the one thought that should make Yancy feel at least slightly better.

But it doesn’t.

*****

Now that he’s figured out that he’s seeing – and not just seeing, but _hearing_ and _talking to_ – ghosts, they don’t leave Raleigh alone.

A hospital is probably not the best place to discover his new ability. Their moans and wails fill the corridors at night like a haunting, discordant soundtrack. Occasionally one will stumble into his room, and be so delighted at the prospect of conversation with a _live human_ that they won’t leave until Yancy has to forcibly push them through the door.

Raleigh has heard the nurses talk about him while they think he’s asleep – about how he seems to be coping strangely well with the loss of his brother, how there’s seemingly no remorse over the severed bond. He wants to tell them that you can’t mourn something you never lost – even though Yancy’s _dead_ , he’s still here, still present by Raleigh’s side. Miraculously, he’s somehow able to touch his brother still, and that’s probably the best thing of all. Always a physical person, he doesn’t think that he’d be able to handle it if he couldn’t feel the reassuring pressure of his brother’s cold body stretched beside his – particularly in those dark and lonely nights that are corrupted by nightmares.

After the mistake he made with Dr. Martinez, he’s learned not to acknowledge the ghosts directly in the presence of other people. A few of the nurses have walked in on some conversations with Yancy, but they just smile sympathetically whenever they hear his brother’s name and blame it on the traumatic drift experience, believing that Raleigh thinks he’s still connected. Dr. Martinez avoids him for a few days, but then she’s back - minus the small, reassuring talk she used to make - and with her is her daughter. She delights in Yancy’s presence, befriending the man and often begging him to play games with her. It’s mostly just tag, and Yancy always pretends to complain about being dragged through the hospital on wild chases, but Raleigh knows he doesn’t mind. There’s a faraway look that his blue eyes go dark with sometimes, and he knows that his brother is thinking about Jazmine.

Pentecost comes back, and when he makes no acknowledgement of the pretty woman who’s with him again, Raleigh realises with a start that she’s a ghost as well. She glares at Yancy when she stalks in, clearly expecting another flying-glass incident, but Yancy only grins impishly and wiggles his fingers in a wave.

“I’ll behave if he does,” he says, and the woman sniffs disapprovingly.

“Boys,” she glowers at them. “So immature. Why can’t they all be like Mako?” she complains to the Marshal beside her, but he doesn’t hear her. Raleigh’s eyes flick to her curiously, and when she notices him looking directly at _her_ , her mouth drops open slightly, apparently stunned that he can see her.

Pentecost treats it as social call, asking Raleigh how he is and how recovery is going. There is no mention of Yancy, nothing about Gipsy Danger (though Tendo had caved under pressure and told him something about Oblivion Bay, which made Raleigh’s heart sink. Their girl didn’t deserve anything like that) or anything else that could trigger him. Yes, it’s under the guise of friendliness, but Raleigh knows that Pentecost is really trying to get a feel of his recovery rate and mental state to report back to his superiors. Truthfully, he hasn’t thought about whether he’ll return to the PPDC yet, and if he does whether they’ll expect him to continue as a pilot. He keeps his answers short and blunt, too distracted by Yancy trying to engage the woman in conversation or making a sarcastic comment after everything the Marshal says. Feigning tiredness, Raleigh lets his head roll to the side and throws a glare at the bedside chair Yancy is occupying. (“What?” his brother says. “I can say these things to his face now without fearing retribution. Do you know how _great_ it feels?”)

Marshal Pentecost leaves shortly after, clearly getting the message that his presence is unwelcome through Raleigh’s lack of responses.

The next time that the brothers see him, he’s dishonourably discharging Raleigh from the PPDC in a cold, bare Shatterdome office a few days after being released from hospital.

*****

Surprisingly it is Yancy who is the most angry about Raleigh’s dismissal.

“It’s not fair!” he explodes, pacing around their bunk room. An open and empty duffle bag is placed on the floor. Raleigh is sitting on his bottom bed, uncharacteristically quiet. He stares at the ground, at his hands twisted in his lap – anywhere but the ghost of his brother or the Gipsy Danger logos splashed around the room. At the moment, he can’t bear to be reminded of what he’s lost.

Yancy is continuing his tirade, gesticulating wildly as he speaks. The lights in the apartment-like room flicker and dim with an exceptionally loud burst of swearing directed at Pentecost, and Raleigh glances up disinterestedly.

“It’s not fair,” Yancy repeats vehemently. “We did the right thing – we saved those fisherman _and_ you killed the damn monster. They can’t do this to you. You don’t _deserve_ \- not after everything – ”

Raleigh flinches at how the plural changes so suddenly to singular. “Yance,” he says quietly. “Yancy, stop. _Yancy_.”

His brother finally comes to a stop in front of him and they lock gazes. His shoulders heave with erratic breaths, his upper body stiff with anger and tension.

Raleigh sighs. “Yancy,” he says again, “we disobeyed orders – I don’t regret it, but that still doesn’t change the fact that I went against orders.” His voice drops lower. “Yancy, I got you _killed_ – you can’t tell me that I don’t deserve to be punished for that.”

Yancy’s face has closed off and is now devoid of emotion. “You,” he says accusingly. “You, you, you, you, _you._ What about me, huh? Or have you forgotten that it takes _two_ to pilot a jaeger – still brain-addled from that solo stint?”

Raleigh’s shaking his head, his gaze dropped from his brother in shame. “Ya- ” he begins.

“Shut _up_ ,” Yancy snaps harshly. “ _You_ didn’t get me killed, you moron, _I_ did. _I_ made that decision with you to go after that boat – fuck, _I_ was the one who picked it up on the radar, for God’s sake. We were in each other’s head, but don’t you Goddamn tell me that you made _my_ choice for me.”

There’s tears pricking at the back of Raleigh’s eyes, and he drops his head into his hands, crushing the heels of his palms into his eye sockets and rubbing angrily at his face. “You have _no idea_ what it’s like for me,” he whispered. “I can’t look at you in that fucking suit and not remember what happened out there or what I lost.”

“But you _didn’t_ lose me,” Yancy breaks in.

“Yes, I _did_ ,” Raleigh moans. “Look at you – you’re a _ghost_ , you can’t- ” There’s a muffled sob.

Yancy stands there silently. “ _You_ didn’t lose me,” he says finally. “The world did.” Then he strides into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him, and _don’t get cocky_ is ringing in Raleigh’s ears; the sly grin on his brother’s face and the cheeky glint in his eyes are filling his vision. And it _hurts,_ oh, God, _it hurts so bad._

There’s a strangled yell from the bathroom and a _boom_ ing sound as his brother slams his fists against the wall. Shortly after, a tentative knock on the door breaks the silence of sobs and smothered emotion. The door creaks open despite Raleigh making no effort to croak out a command, and Tendo pokes his head into the room cautiously.

“Hey buddy,” he says gently, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. He stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, thumbing the rosary around his wrist. There’s a small piece of cord that now sits around his wrist just above the religious beads. Raleigh only notices it because he’s never seen Tendo wear it before. A small, blue-grey bead is the only thing threaded through it, sitting snugly between the bones of his wrist where a watch face would normally rest. “How are you goin’?”

Raleigh shrugs. He can’t really tell Tendo the truth, no matter how much he wants to. Others have found it strange that he doesn’t outwardly appear to be mourning – his personality has changed from the bubbly young man he once was, and there’s a heavy cloud that hangs around his shoulders of grief – but his brother is still with him, despite no one being able to see the blonde man clunking down the hallway by his side in his white drivesuit. He can still feel his mind reeling from the sudden loss of connection and the strain from fighting solo, but he is numb with shame and remorse. It’s not enough to render him helplessly bursting into tears at random, but sufficient to plunge him into prolonged periods of silence when he stares at his brother’s ghost for too long. The shadow of the man who once was.

“I’m leaving,” is the only thing that he says. He can’t say anymore, can’t give his friend any more than that.

“The PPDC?” Tendo asks. He sighs deeply, creases furrowing his brow. “Yeah, I heard about that. You know, if you need a place- ”

“Not just- ” Raleigh begins. He drops his head again, twisting strands of blonde at the nape of his neck in frustration and anger. “This whole Goddamn city. I can’t- ” He sighs.

Yancy smashes something in the bathroom. It sounds like glass, high and tinkling, and then there’s a giant _crash_. Both men flinch significantly, but Raleigh doesn’t make any move to acknowledge the sound of his brother’s emotion that’s shattering him into pieces.

Tendo stares at him wide-eyed. “What the hell was that,” he breathes, still trying to calm his racing heart that’s pulsing with adrenaline.

“Bathroom,” Raleigh says finally. “I was never… neat,” he eventually finishes, hoping that Yancy doesn’t cause any more damage and Tendo doesn’t ask any further.

They lapse into silence. Tendo nudges the duffel bag with his shoe. “Do you need any help packing?” he asks. “Someone to keep you company?” They always came in two, those Becket brothers. A packaged deal, Gipsy’s techs used to joke. If you wanted one, you got the other as well. Being Jaeger pilots only served to further solidify their bond until they were literally attached at the shoulders and hip. It is more than disturbing to see only one traversing the corridors of the Shatterdome now.

“No,” Raleigh says. “I’ll be… You don’t need to stay. I’m sure you’ve got other things to do.”

“I don’t, actually,” Tendo smiles mournfully. “But it’s okay.” He rummages in his pocket, pulling a slip of paper out and staring down at it. “I guess you’ll be going after you’ve finished up here.” Raleigh shrugs. His arm throbs and aches in time with his beating heart. “Here,” Tendo says, thrusting the piece of paper at him. “My details and shit. So you don’t fall off the earth or something.”

Raleigh stands up to take the paper with a murmur of “thanks,” and then the LOCCENT officer is wrapping him in a loose hug, clapping him on the back as they break away.

“Keep in touch, okay?” Tendo says with a small smile. “And… good luck.” _Good luck with life. Good luck with your recovery. Good luck with living without your brother._ It’s all of those things wrapped into one.

There’s a jerky nod from Raleigh, who glances up briefly from Tendo’s messily looped writing. “Thanks, Tendo.” He doesn’t smile.

With a brief touch to his uninjured shoulder, the LOCCENT officer leaves.

Raleigh doesn’t move from his spot for a while. Yancy’s gone quiet in the bathroom, and Raleigh’s not even really sure he’s still in there. Tendo’s paper gets scrunched into his pocket distractedly, and then he’s sliding the bathroom door open, surveying the mess.

The contents of the cupboards under the sink are strewn all over the floor messily, making it nearly impossible to navigate through the small room. The mirror on the wall is cracked and broken, a large, fist-sized, circular smash in the top left hand corner radiating outwards. The bathroom is empty but for Raleigh, but when he stares blankly into fractured mirror, the only jagged reflection it spits back at him is that of his brother’s.

*****

Packing is easier than it should have been. Anything that Raleigh stares at for a prolonged period of time – be it items of clothing, or small knick-knack type objects – he throws in the bag. Most of it doesn’t even belong to him. He takes all their photos that are scattered through the rooms but one. He leaves it taped to the cupboard above their fridge, a lonely picture that once was proudly the centre of their haphazard display with the only other photograph of the two of them. Raleigh remembers the day that Tendo took it, just after their first test run in Gipsy. He stands there in front of it, fingers poised to pluck it from the tape, but he finds that he can’t make them move. The photo is a representation of everything that he’s lost, a cruel reminder of the way things once were.

He leaves the lights on when he closes the door, duffle bag slung over his right shoulder. He doesn’t see many people as he walks out of the Shatterdome, and when they do cross his path, they either avert their eyes in sympathy or stop and watch him pass sadly.

Back in the empty rooms, the picture smiles on, a stray fragment of soul in a room now vacant of life.

*****

Yancy is standing against the gates of the Shatterdome waiting for him. He straightens when he sees his brother, armoured plates clacking together as he moves. “You forgot this,” he says when Raleigh is level with him. He holds the photo that Raleigh left taped to the cupboard out in his hands.

His brother stiffens. “There was a reason I left that,” he says, but he snatches the photo from Yancy’s hands anyway. He doesn’t glance down at the photo, not wanting to look at it anymore. Raleigh doesn’t want to make that association of his smiling brother with the dead man in front of him. But his mind does it anyway, and he thinks he might vomit.

He and Yancy grin audaciously out from the picture as he stashes it in the duffle bag with the rest of photos. Their arms are slung casually yet possessively around each other’s shoulders, and they’re in their drivesuits. Gipsy Danger’s upper body stands sentinel behind them. It’s a good photo, and one of the only recent pictures that they have of the two of them.

“Why?” Yancy asks curiously, cocking his head as Raleigh struggles to heft the bag back over his right shoulder. He reaches out to help his brother lift it, but Raleigh only backs away, taking a few steps and remaining out of reach. Yancy frowns.

“Because everyone in it is dead,” Raleigh says.

Eventually, he successfully manages to get the duffle in a reasonably comfortable position and starts off down the tarred driveway to the road.

Yancy’s quiet. “Not everyone,” he says, jogging to keep the same pace as his brother. They settle back into their familiar rhythm, Yancy on the right, Raleigh on the left – like nothing ever happened – and he makes sure to bump shoulders with the younger man every now and then.

Raleigh stops abruptly. “I felt you _die_ ,” he says bluntly. He stares down at the road under his boots, not able to look Yancy in the eye. “And as far as I’m concerned, I died out there too.”

Yancy opens his mouth to say something, but then Raleigh’s off again, each step taking him further and further away from a life that ended in ruin. He tries to match steps with his brother again, but Raleigh only speeds up and doesn’t look his way once. Eventually Yancy settles for following a few paces behind, boring a hole Raleigh’s shoulder blades with his eyes. His brother’s posture is slumped - defeated and broken - and it’s only then that Yancy truly realises the implication of what he’s become.

*****

“I could steal a car,” Yancy’s saying. He’s back walking next to his brother again. They’re on the main road that leads out to the Shatterdome from the city. A road that is deserted.

“No, you can’t,” Raleigh replies disinterestedly. He’s scuffing his boots every other step – a sign of fatigue. He keeps rubbing his face distractedly as well. Yancy knows that motion. He used to do it when he was upset or frustrated a lot. He wonders if it was passed through the drift or if it is a habit his brother just picked up.

“I could,” he insists. “I mean, we wouldn’t have to break in, or anything. I’d just walk through the doors and hotwire it and drive it back out here to meet you. Saves you having to walk all the way into Anchorage.”

“Yancy, you _can’t_ steal a car. For starters, I think people are going to notice if a car is just cruising around _apparently_ driving itself.” There’s a slight pause. “You don’t even fucking know how to hotwire a car.”

“How do you know?” Yancy shoots back. It’s totally childish, this line of conversation, and they both know it, but having a stupid conversation is better than his brother ignoring his presence like he previously was, so he pursues it selfishly. It’s bad enough that nobody can see or hear him. He doesn’t want to lose that communication with the only person he knows of. Doubly so because that person is his brother. “I could have totally learnt how to do.”

Raleigh fixes him with a look that is so _older brother_ – and when did our roles reverse? Yancy wonders sadly. _I’m_ supposed to be the one who gives him that look – and says, “Dude, we drifted. I know.” _Past_ tense.

There’s silence.

“So Luna says,” Yancy begins.

“Who?” Raleigh asks.

“Luna. That woman who haunts Pentecost. Anyway, she says- ”

“When did you talk to her?” Raleigh buts in.

Yancy lets out a strangled sigh. “When you were asleep last night. I don’t… sleep. At least, I haven’t. I don’t know if I actually can or not, but… Anyway, she found me when I was wandering around the Icebox. We talked for a bit. She’s actually pretty cool. When she’s not being a pompous ass. Must run in the family.” He pauses, musing.

“What?” Raleigh says, but Yancy presses on.

“So Luna says that the Gages were feeling pretty bad about… the kaiju.” ( _The kaiju._ That’s what they’re reduced to calling it when it’s still so fresh and nightmarish in both of their minds.) “She says that they’ve pretty much turned into ghosts.” He bares his teeth in a terrible rendition of a grin at the dark humour. “They wanted to come see you, but apparently it would have been too much. Luna says – ”

“Stop,” Raleigh says sharply. “ _Stop it._ I don’t want to talk about this. I don’t want to talk about them, and I don’t want to talk about _it._ ” He turns and fixes Yancy with a poisonous glare. “Especially not with my dead brother.” A frustrated sigh clouds the cold air in front of him, torn apart as his body ploughs through the space. There’s a hysterical, high-pitched noise that emanates from his mouth as he pulls ahead slightly. “For all I know, this could just be happening in my fucked up, traumatised brain.”

“But it’s not,” Yancy says quietly, feeling chastised. “Raleigh, you know it’s not. That girl in the hospital proved it, and so does Luna. So do the rest of the hospital ghosts that talked to you. This is _real_ , kid. I don’t like it any more than you do – you think I want to stay in this thing for the rest of my undead life?” He hits himself on the chest plate of the drivesuit’s armour with a clenched fist. The action makes a dull _thud_ ding sound, and Raleigh flinches. He doesn’t say anything for a while. Then,

“You really think it’ll be forever?”

His older brother sighs. “I don’t know. I don’t understand this either. But you’re not alone in this, kid.” He reaches out and ruffles Raleigh’s hair. The other man makes no move to push him away, and Yancy counts that as a positive sign.

They keep walking.

*****

The only car that passes them forty minutes later takes pity on Raleigh’s lonely and beaten figure and pulls over. It’s growing darker, the headlights sending shadows leaping through the misting air. Stray flakes of snow gently cascade from the sky. There’s a dusting of it in Raleigh’s blonde hair, but Yancy takes a few moments of child-like wonder as the snow seems to settle on his body, before passing through only seconds later. The sensation is akin to a tingling feeling, and Yancy shivers with delight that he’s still able to feel things.

It’s a middle-aged woman in the car, and by the looks of the child-size car seat in the back, it’s her motherly instinct that forces her to pull over. Raleigh thanks her quietly as he slides in next to the small seat – purposely distancing himself from her so that she doesn’t feel threatened by a stranger – offers her a cautious smile, and then ducks his head. They were pretty famous before… _before._ It’s obvious that Raleigh doesn’t want to be recognised. The fear of a barrage of personal questions prevents him from being too friendly, yet he still remains a reserved politeness, lowering his head to wring his hands or stare out the window. Yancy slides through the car door hurriedly before the woman takes off, settling in the middle seat.  He frowns as half of his body pokes through the car seat. It tickles unpleasantly, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable.

His younger brother manages to avoid conversation with the woman, sticking instead to safe, short answers that betray nothing about who or what he is. Raleigh manages to persuade her to drop him on the edge of Anchorage, and she does so reluctantly, offering to take him somewhere if he needs it. Using the charm that was normally reserved for the girls and the cameras, Raleigh assures her that he’ll be fine, flashing her a shadow of a white-toothed smile, before turning and walking away. Yancy stays motionless for a few seconds. He sees the woman’s chest stutter with a sharp inhalation of breath, the flush of recognition that warms her cheeks and the lip bite of uncertainty. She hesitates, then finally gets back into her car and drives off, now undoubtedly with a story to share with her family upon arriving at home. Yancy watches her go, smirking to himself with the thought that she’ll never know that she had _two_ Beckets in her car. Then he turns, following his brother.

Raleigh is waiting for him at a street corner. The duffle bag is at his feet, his eyes are closed and his expression weary as he leans back against the wall tiredly. He sighs when he hears Yancy’s chunky footsteps, opening his blue eyes and offering his brother a fatigued look of someone three times his age. The sun has just set and the city’s nightlife is beginning to waken, with neon and fluorescent beams flickering to life everywhere.

“So,” Yancy says. He crosses his arms against the bulky chest plates. “What now?”

**Author's Note:**

> The first of a three-part series.


End file.
